Page 147 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“I never promised you a future.”

I stare at him, waiting for some type, any type, of emotion. Begging for a sign to show he’s affected by what he’s doing. How can he sit here watching me, so stoic and detached, as my heart shatters?

His jaw tightens; it’s the only sign of emotion visible on his cold face. “A replacement starts in three days.”

I grip the edge of my seat for support. It would have been less painful if he had slapped me across the face. A horrible vision comes to mind of another girl in her twenties moving in, rubbing arms with Killian in the morning, sharing dinner, sharing a bed.

“Why are you really ending this, Killian?”

“It’s not good for either of us. I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve. You’ll thank me in time.”

“Sounds like a line,” I sneer. How many times has he said this before? I jump up from the seat. I can’t bear another minute of this agony. “Fine. I’ll go home and pack my things and be out of your way. You can stuff your visa, your apartment, your allowance, and your bloody blue eyes, and your…” I draw in a sharp breath. “Your fancy tartare restaurants up your arsehole!” I shriek. I don’t want the American Dream that way.

His eyes glint as he stands abruptly. “Clodagh—”

“Don’t get up.” This time, it’s my turn to cut him off. I give him a look that I hope is as cold as his. “I’ll show myself out.”

Feeling faint, I march toward the door and flip him the bird before slamming the door behind me.

My exit is met with a loud crash from the other side of the room, like a fist hitting a desk.

***

Due to my zombie-like state, it takes me an extra hour or so to get home.

Home.

What the hell am I talking about? Killian’s Fifth Avenue townhouse isn’tmyhome.

Where the fuck did it all go wrong? When did I let my feelings get involved? I ignored the expiration date I knew we had and blew this fling up to be something more in my head.

Killian never truly cared about me.

Sure, he wanted me to feel protected. He wanted to show me New York.He wanted my company and body, but he didn’t want to be withme.

That’s where I went wrong.

I stand in front of the retina scanner at the door of the townhouse, wondering if it can detect my identity past the mess of red eyes.

Sam is picking me up in an hour to take me—air quotes—“anywhere I want to go.” Anywhere so long as I’m gone by the time Killian is back from work.

I have some decisions to make now. Last minute, the only option that the dodgy au pair crew has is nannying for a family with triplets, a teen just out of the correction center, and two Rottweilers. I would have doggy daycare duties as well as nannying.

It sounds bloody awful.

Just as I’m about to call Orla again, a number flashes on my phone.

Shit. Teagan.

Do I answer it? I’ll be gone by the time she’s back.

“Hi, Teagan,” I answer with false cheeriness.

“It’s Dad’s fault, right?” she cries.

I pause. The less I say now, the better. “He decided it wasn’t for the best.”

“What? Did something happen between you two? No cap! You hear?”

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